


Lvov Escapes

by LadyBinx



Series: Lucinda Baker [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Occlumency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinx/pseuds/LadyBinx
Summary: I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

I was rushing across London to stop a disaster, ever since receiving a very alarming letter at an incongruous, surprisingly random location. I had my broom with me, but I’d apparated close enough to the house of my closest friend that I didn’t need to fly. At the big black front door of his house I knocked heavily until it was flung open. A pair of wide brown eyes was looking at me above a dirty apron.

“Madame Lucinda!” the little house-elf said in her thick French accent, “What on earth is the matter?”

“Is William in? I have to stop him!” I exclaimed, barging past her.

“He’s out!” she said, ignoring my rudeness because of our familiarity, “He said to tell you, if you came, that he was at the secret place. He said you know where it is!”

“Shit. When did he leave?” I demanded, turning back to her from the cluttered front hall.

“About half an hour ago,” the elf, Hoppy, told me quickly.

“I may not be too late,” I said to her, possibly by way of an apology as I rushed back out of the door.

“For what?” I heard her cry as I seized up my broom and soared into the air, not caring which muggles saw me.

Again I was racing across the pre-dawn skyline of London. I was flying to an industrial estate in Wimbledon, next to the train tracks. It took about half an hour in the freezing night sky, but I was in too much of a hurry to slow down or go past my own small flat to get my warm coat and flying goggles. I landed clumsily on the asphalt surrounding the warehouse and used my momentum to slam through the side-door, tumbling in past the abandoned reception desk and throwing open the door to the warehouse space itself.

“Stop!” I shouted.

The shout echoed around the massive warehouse space despite the clutter and noise. From what I could see in the relative darkness, there were many large brass frames supporting clockwork that clicked around slowly. There was a loud grinding noise, several deafening tickings, and dozens loud clanks as I walked further into the space. The clockwork was driving things that hung from the ceiling, moving large pieces of stone around a central mechanism. The pieces of stone slowly rotating on their rods and braces seemed to be influencing the sparks and lights that flashed within the machine in the middle. I could see a silhouetted figure darting around the heavy cogs on a walkway that skirted the paths of the rotating stones. A wand glimmered in his hand. He couldn’t hear me over the sound of the various clanking, grinding contraptions.

I ran up a stairway to the walkway the figure was standing on and grabbed him by the shoulder. It was William, with a scruffy beard and his shirt sleeves rolled up, grease over his hands and no eye patch over his empty eye socket. I sprang back, surprised by his open eye-socket lit by the strange light from his wand.

“What do you want?” he asked, shouting over the machines.

“You have to stop!” I shouted.

“What?” he said, unable to hear.

“You have to stop it!”

“I can’t!” he replied, finally hearing me.

“What?”

“I said, I can’t!” he bellowed.

“Why not?”

“It’s already started! I started it ten minutes ago! It’s already underway! If I shut it down now, it’ll destabilise the wormhole architecture and lead to the layered space collapsing! It could blow the face off this whole country! And that’s the best case scenario!” he shouted, growing hysterical as he kept his wand flickering over the cogs in front of him.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

There seemed nothing for it but to let William finish his work. I sulked off to the side of the massive chamber, lurking in the shadows. The strange flickering lighting of magical sparks firing inside the esoteric contraptions and the growing noise of the gears and cogs. It quickly game me a headache, and I considered asking him how much longer it would take. But I remembered the frantic look in his single eye and thought better of it – especially if the best case scenario was blowing the face off the whole country. I frowned, massaging my temples as I waited.

It took half an hour for the machinery to wind down, the slabs of rock and stone slowing down and finally grinding to a halt. As the clanking and grinding finally ceased, the silence was astonishing. With only the delicate pinging of metal releasing its pressure and heat, it felt like the whole universe was breathing a sigh of relief. In the centre of the room, William was leaning on one of the rails. I was surprised that even from where I was standing, I could hear him breathe a shuddering sigh. As the light in the centre failed, I lost sight of William until he lit his wand and sent a few sparks flying into the lanterns hanging from the brass framework around the warehouse space. A warm orange light flickered from them, replacing the bizarre lighting. Even though it was still an inconstant light, it was immediately more soothing than what I’d been tolerating.

William strode over to me, his jacket in one hand and his wand in the other. I hesitated to look at where his missing eye had been, but it had always held a grim fascination. He handed me the jacket wordlessly and waved his wand over his hands, removing the grease and oil. He flexed his newly clean hands with an air of satisfaction, then took his jacket back from me. He fished in one of the pockets for his eye patch and stretched it over his head, adjusting it easily after many years of long experience. Then he turned to look at me properly, apparently much more comfortable now that his scarred eye socket was concealed.

“So, what have I done wrong now?” he asked wearily.

“Has the robotic brain been killed, then? Finally?” I said.

“Yes. Yana sent me a letter saying that King, the magical computer, had fulfilled his part of the agreement. That it was finally time to start up this machine. Now that it’s finished, so is the Russian mechanical mind. It wasn’t easy. I had to infuse the dissolution spell with a luck potion in the end, and that was just the start of the technical problems. You ever seen what a luck potion will do when combined with a dissolution spell? It’s not pretty! So, what have I done wrong now?” he asked again, more reproachfully.

“Last night, Lvov escaped from the safe-house they’ve been keeping him in. It must have been about four or five hours ago now. What time is it?”

“Half six in the morning,” William said with restrained patience.

“Okay, that’s not important,” I said, responding to his tone, “What is important that the highest-profile and most highly accomplished Russian agent from the Departament Mastera escaped from his low-security prison just a few hours before an unknown party destroyed the Russian clockwork brain inside the depths of the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry building itself. They’ll think it was him, damn it!”

“Wait, Lvov escaped?” he asked.

“Didn’t you see the posters in Diagon Alley? The Daily Prophet is running this morning’s edition with his picture on the front. The whole country is gearing up for a manhunt as it is!”

“And now we’ve given the Ministry reason to believe he has access to the Department of Mysteries or something. I see,” William said, rolling down his sleeves.

“They’ll hunt him down like… well, they never hunted Sirius Black like they’re about to hunt Lvov,” I said.

“You and Sirius,” William sighed, looking at me thoughtfully with one eye. I started to see how tired and drawn he was looking. He seemed to reach a conclusion, “Well, it’s terrible for him, of course. But I don’t exactly have a lot of fondness for the guy, and if they suspect Lvov it’ll take suspicion away from us, right?”

“I’m not about to let the Ministry put someone away for something they didn’t do,” I said with a growl.

“Yes, I thought you might say that,” William said. He grinned wryly and pulled out a small silver flask from the inside pocket of his jacket. He unscrewed the cap and took a deep gulp, shuddering. I could smell the fumes of the massively alcoholic elixir as he screwed the cap back on. “Alright, well, I’m assuming you wanted to ask me if there was any way I could make it look like it wasn’t him?”

“You want to help me?” I asked, careful to keep the surprise out of my voice.

“We’re in this together. You’re my friend. Unlike some people, I know that means I’m not going to leave you hanging,” he said, but I could tell by the slight smile and the low chuckle that he didn’t mean any bitterness by it.

“Well, is there any way you can make it look like it wasn’t him? Like, using your wormholes to stick a suicide note into the clockwork brain?”

“The fourth-dimensional structure has already collapsed. Harmlessly, I may add. It’s been slowly taken apart, piece by piece, from the inside. I imagine that room in the Department of Mysteries is now full of molten metal and burning magic. There’s no way I can plant any subversive evidence. I should have thought of it sooner,” he said. And bless him, there was even a hint of genuine regret in his voice.

“Well, is there any way I can make it look like someone else now? After all this?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe that goblin who helped me, that Nornuk guy? Maybe he could figure out a way to use the echoing fourth-dimensional vacillations to, I don’t know, establish a portal link to any remaining chambers? But that’s going to be tenuous,” William said, unscrewing the cap of his flask again.

“Yes, Nornuk…” I said, remembering what I’d done with him. “I don’t think he’ll be able to help you vacuum the echoes or whatever. Not where he is now. I think all that’s left now is to find Lvov and get him out of the country.”

“Good grief, you’re willing to do all that, just for him? Did something happen between you two?” asked William, taking another swig. His eye twitched at the sensation running down his gullet.

“Well, we might have slept together. A couple of times. And I might have removed his memories of it so that the Ministry never found out while they interrogated him,” I said, reduced to an embarrassed, low murmur, which was in itself embarrassing.

“Good grief,” William said again, “This is all getting a bit heavy, eh?” and offered me the flask. I appreciated the lack of recrimination and judgement. I took the flask from him – we’d both been working all night, so it’s not like it was drinking in the morning. At least, that’s what I told myself as I felt the noxious fluid slide down my throat.

“Bloody right,” I said as I shuddered.

“So, where are you going to take him? Back to Russia?” William asked. From anyone else I’d have hated this question, but at this stage I was sure I could trust my closest friend.

“There’s a chance the Departament Mastera think he’s a traitor. I mean, the robotic brain was also used to sabotage a couple of other Russian projects. They probably want to wipe him out more than our own Ministry,” I told him.

“Well then, where?” William pushed.

“… I’m not going to tell you,” I said.

“It’s probably best that way,” William agreed happily, hiccupping.

What he didn’t know was that I didn’t really have a plan yet. I left him there, in that warehouse, to disassemble and remove all of his massive, heavy equipment and finish his disgusting flask of victorious spirits. As I was flying away on my broomstick, blinking in the dawn sun that’s always too bright, even on a cloud day, I started to formulate a plan. I wanted to get Lvov out of the country and out of danger, but with almost everyone in the world hunting him, that would be difficult. What I needed to do was make somewhere safe for him. And since I couldn’t convince the Ministry of his innocence for fear of implicating myself in this affair, I was left with only one real option. But the more I thought about it, it slowly seemed a better and better plan.

 

*

 

I had to start with the wizards who had been on duty overnight, guarding the little cottage they’d been keeping Lvov safe in. Somehow he had brought one of the Ministry guards down from their broomstick where he had been circling, overpowered him and stolen the guard’s wand. He had then made off into the night, escaping completely. The guard hadn’t seen anything useful – I checked with every source that I knew in the Ministry, twisting arms and laying down a few bribes. The wand was being traced, but as usual the tracing spells were useless.

There were two other groups hunting Lvov that I knew about – the Departament Mastera and the Svobodny El-fov. I was most interested in the Departament Mastera, but my plan to make sure they didn’t kill him depended on their not knowing I was involved. True, the Svobodny El-fov was definitely dedicated to killing him with the fury of fundamentalist zealots, executing Lvov for the crimes he had committed against the other el-fov ever since they’d been freed recently. The slavery of the el-fov, the Russian house-elves, had been much crueller than that of their race in Britain. But luckily, I had been instrumental in freeing the first of their revolutionary army, and I hadn’t used that against them despite our further dealings. To save Lvov’s life, I figured it was about time I called in their debt. Yes, I chose to seek out the Svobodny El-fov rebels who would kill him on sight instead of the Russian agents that only might kill him, but hey, life is complicated.

In order to operate in this country the el-fov would need a base of some sort, even creatures this powerful and wide-roaming. And that base would be supplied, which meant local assistance. This, in turn, meant that somewhere in the country there would be an elf who knew where they were. I have extensive contacts amongst the elves, both free and still enslaved. Finding that one lone elf proved simpler than I’d imagined. It only took several hours of feverish inquiries and several reassurances that I wasn’t going to cause any trouble for the el-fov. Their agenda, after all, only extended to Russian wizards who had been cruel to them in some way.

His name was Georgie, and he was a house-elf recently freed from a family of Newcastle wizards that I didn’t know.  Like many recently freed elves, he’d discovered the only thing stopping him from drinking a lot of brandy was his lack of money. When the el-fov had offered to pay him to pick up food, medicine and such, the first thing he’d done with his first paycheque was get talkatively drunk. For those who cared to ask, Georgie was how to find the Svobodny El-fov for as little as a half-bottle of the cheapest brandy sold in any supermarket.

The el-fov were hiding in an abandoned church. I’ve taken no interest in muggle religions since my parents stopping taking me to mass, very shortly after I received my letter for Hogwarts and the literature explaining what it meant, so I couldn’t tell you what sort of church it was. The whole place was crumbling, and someone had boarded the place up. Rather than magically pulling the boards off, I knocked on one of them.

“Hello?” I called. There was complete silence inside the church. The bright midday sun was burning above me, making the shadows of the overgrown graveyard seem even darker amongst the bright green bushes and trees. The wind rustled in the long grass, and I could hear songbirds warding off magpies in the hidden branches. It would have enjoyed it, if I wasn’t here to ask for help from bloodthirsty, magical near-humans with the battle skills of ninjas.

I waited for several minutes in the sunlight and birdsong, and I started to wonder if I’d got the right place. Then I tried shouting out one of the elvish words I know. The elvish language was once forbidden by the medieval wizards, but it was passed secretly from generation to generation, written in the ash of the hearth and whispered in the darkness of wine cellars and laundry rooms. I can count on one hand the number of wizards who know any of these elvish words, and there are several that no living wizard knows but me. Elves take their language very seriously. Knowing it has often helped me communicate with this habitually servile race, even when they speak no English. If there were elves here, they would respond to my greeting. I shouted it again, and knocked on the wooden panel next to an official-looking notice warning of abandonment and unsafe masonry and so on.

I heard something behind me that made me turn. An elf was standing on the overgrown church path like it was entirely normal, having appeared out of thin air. He was wearing a heavy, rusty horned helmet with his pointed ears sticking out from beneath and thick leather armour with a short wood axe in one hand that gleamed in the sunlight, polished and sharpened. His wide eyes were glaring out from beneath his helmet, and his papery lips were drawn back over his sharp teeth in a snarl. I’d have laughed, but the axe looked professional. The Svobodny El-Fov hadn’t been in existence for very long, but they already had a reputation for bloodthirsty ruthlessness.

He said something that I recognised as Russian, and I responded with the elvish word for talk, or discussion. He looked me up and down very warily and I spread my hands wide to show I had nothing to hide, even though I had a long dagger concealed in my boot and my wand inside my long grey overcoat. He seemed to judge that I was acceptable and walked past me, pushing me gently aside and knocking on the same wooden board over the doorway of the church. I memorised the pattern of the knock, just in case it was a secret one, and then the wooden board opened inwards on invisible hinges. The elf silently motioned for me to follow him, and then disappeared into the darkness. I stepped into the building.

The wooden board slammed shut behind me instantly, and all the light disappeared. The echo of the slamming door, and the echo of the pattering footsteps of the elf, told me that I was in the central chamber of the church. I followed the noise, slowly, bumping my legs against the pews as he led me through what felt like the whole damn church. I would have lit my wand but I was sure the El-Fov would be watching me, and I didn’t want to alarm them. Part of me suspected I could hear something shifting in the darkness.

“Uh, hello?” I asked, and I heard the elf I was following say something in Russian, far ahead of me in the darkness. I kept following it, becoming less and less comfortable in the shifting darkness. I was sure I’d figured out the layout of the pews, but there was broken glass crunching beneath my feet and little fragments of rubble from some unseen crumbling stonework knocking around as I walked.

I was stumbling in the darkness when suddenly, to my side there was a sudden bar of light. On my other side, a grotesque face reared at me out of the darkness, barely inches from my own. It had a long pointed nose, a gaping mouth with a set of pointed teeth, wide eyes that rolled back in its head into a warty, distorted brow. I leapt away from it, and was about to draw my wand when its lack of movement made my observational skills override my fight instinct. It was a stone gargoyle that lay amongst the smashed pews, having fallen from its place in the roof. The dim light that spilt out of the doorway behind me had lit it surreally, seeming bright and vivid after long minutes in the darkness.

I turned, looking into the doorway. There were a dozen elves gathered there, blocking out the scant light, silhouetted against the unseen light. Their heads were all gathered around the doorframe, peering around the side and even from above, dangling upside down, holding their horned helmets on with skinny, sinewy arms. All I could see of their features was the tiny glimmer of reflected light in their wide, staring eyes. I was about to say something as they stood out as dark shapes against the glowing light behind them. But then I felt something else watching me, and as I looked up slowly I was aware that the light flickering out of the doorway was lighting several more pairs of eyes. In the high ceiling, there were dozens of other elves that I could make out in the dusty murk, all of them staring at me. They were hanging from the rafters, and standing on the remaining gargoyles, and leaning out of the spaces where the windows had once been, now replaced with opaque wooden boards. They were all staring at me ceaselessly, and I thought for a second I could hear their eyelids blinking. There were more in the apses, and peering at me from above the pews. There must have been hundreds of eyes, and only now was I seeing them out there in the darkness.

I cleared my throat before I spoke, because my mouth was suddenly dry. There was the strange sound of all the elves shrinking back suddenly, and then I said the elvish word for friendship. I added the word for safety, and another for discussion. There was a long, drawn-out silence that felt like the elves were all holding their breath, astonished to hear a wizard say their own sacred, secret words.

“Lucinda? Lucinda Baker?” I heard an elf say, and there was a shape pushing through the lit doorway.

“Yes?” I said, gratefully.

“It’s me, Yarost,” said the elvish shape, still silhouetted against the darkness.

“Yarost?”

“Yes. We last met in that warehouse. Do you remember? There was a battle between us and the fellow hunters of Lvov, because he did not want us to smuggle out secret plans in exchange for being taught his vulnerability. Do you remember?” he said, his English growling with a thick Russian accent despite his high elvish voice.

“I remember, Yarost. I’m glad you made it out alive,” I said, “I hope your comrades are as healthy?”

“Alas, no,” he said, displaying his talent with the English language, “Many died that night. And while we claimed many targets, we did not claim our triumphant glory. That one man who has been our worst oppressor over his many years. And I think this man is the one you come to us about,” he said, and despite his thick accent I felt the suggestive tone of his voice. I stood, prepared to stare down the apparition in the doorway.

“How do you know?”

“We have read the newspaper, and our agents have seen the signs you have put up in your streets. And now here you are. My brothers and sisters may not speak your language but we are not stupid,” he said, “Come inside.”

I entered the room. It was a small office, the furniture long abandoned to rot. The light was coming from an oil lamp set atop a shelf on the far wall that was bending under the meagre weight. Elves were sitting all over the desk, its chair, the armchair, and dangling from the low ceiling. The stink of lamp oil and dust was tickling my nose, and the little office was cramped with all the elves glaring at me. They all wore those similar horned helmets – it had just been the most convenient clothing at the time when they’d been freed, but they appeared to have adopted it as a uniform.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” I told Yarost. He was sitting on the desk with crossed legs and several pieces of paper in front of him that he gathered up and put behind his back.

“I am sure. I assume you have come here because you know where Lvov is, Miss Baker? What would you like for the information?” he said, and the elves all leant forward eagerly.

“No. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to help you find him.”

“If we knew where he was, he would be dead already. What is your interest in finding him?”

“That’s none of your business. He’s mine, alright? You’re not to kill him when we find him. Now, where have you looked?” I said, business-like and brusque. In retrospect, it was the wrong approach to take with ex-slaves.

“Wait, what? Who are you to order us around? You witch, you think you’re so different to the others but you’re just the same! Do you know what Lvov has done to our people?!” he snapped, standing from the desk and stepping off, landing on the ground.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the stories. The lack of decent accommodation, healthcare and education. Using you as furniture, the abuse and state-sponsored torture, hunting you through the snowy forests purely for sport. It’s appalling, yes. But if you let Lvov live, he’ll try to redeem himself in the future. He’s changed a lot recently,” I said as Yarost stood in front of me, staring up at me sternly.

“Nothing he ever does can make up for his crimes!” he said, and his little face was growing red.

“Let’s be practical here. He can work for you on the inside, introducing political reform maybe, or feeding you information. If you execute him for his crimes, he’ll be of no further use.”

“Why do this?” Yarost demanded.

“It’s a long-term investment,” I said coldly.

“Why are you convinced that Lvov has changed so much?!” he roared, spittle flying from his thin-lipped mouth.

“I saw it there for a second in his mind,” I said, responding to his outrage with an even, measured, stern tone, “I’ve saved one of his memories, and I can give it back to him as soon as you find him. He’ll do as I ask.”

“And why should we allow you find him?”

“This is a much better plan. And Yarost, imagine this,” I said as I grinned, and spread my hands through the air, “The human is a slave to the elves.”

He looked me up and down, and his look of indignant fury faded away slowly. Then he said some things in Russian to the other elves, and they began a rapid, rattling dialogue with wild gestures. Axes were shaken vigorously, and one elf hurled his violently into the wood of the desk to punctuate his sentence. I wondered what they were all saying, but decided wisely to stay silent and wait for the result. One elf disappeared into thin air, but the others tutted and vanished after him, presumably to bring him back.

“They agree,” Yarost told me simply, eventually, “The elves outside will obey, too. We have an entire army in this country now, devoted almost entirely to hunting Lvov,” he said as he padded back to the desk and picked up the various papers. Reading off them, he told me all the various ways they’d tried to find him. They’d been literally searching manually, making lists of places to search and crossing them off as members of their guerrilla army apparated out to their sites. They’d been searching abandoned mines, caves, old churches, ruined castles and desolate woodlands. As Yarost continued listing off specific places, I began to realise that management and tactical thinking may not come naturally to an elf.

“Listen, I’ll stop you there,” I said, interrupting him. “You’re thinking like elves. You imagine him fleeing to the first random dark corner he comes across and hiding there, inactive. Do you see what I mean?”

“I suppose,” he said.

“You need to rethink your approach. Think like Lvov. Think like a hunter, a duellist, proud and proactive,” I said. There was a long time while Yarost thought about it, stroking his chin with long spindly fingers. Slowly, he took a rolled up map from behind the desk and unrolled it on the desk, covering all the paperwork. It was of the whole British Isles, which was hardly useful. “No,” I told him, “Think tactics. He knows nothing of this country, probably. He doesn’t know where to go. He’ll be trying to get back to Russia, probably.”

“Do you think so?” Yarost said, “Isn’t that more running and hiding? Besides, the Russian bastards are trying to kill him too.”

“Definitely?” I asked.

“Yes. They think he has joined our side, that he allowed us to keep the plans and work with the Ministry to destroy the robotic brain and the death-cannon, crippling the magical might of Russian wizardry. I’m told it is the most devastating act of sabotage in the history of my nation… I mean, their nation,” he said, faltering.

“He doesn’t know that, though. Will he try to make contact with them? With the embassy?”

“Perhaps. I shall send some of my comrades to watch the embassy doors. If he makes it there, he will be ours,” he said, and then issued some orders in Russian to one of the elves still lingering inside the room. The elf vanished.

“That’s a good plan. See, now we’re thinking, eh? But if he knows that he’ll be in danger from you at that place, he might try something else. So, where else?”

“As a proud warrior, might he try to reclaim his pride?” Yarost suggested.

“Oh, that’s excellent. Well done!” I exclaimed, “He’ll try to get revenge against the Ministry wizards who caught him.”

“And you, of course.”

“What? Well, yes. Good point. I suppose so. And do you think he’ll hold a grudge against William as well?”

“Ah yes, the Professor Doctor. How is Hoppy?” Yarost asked, a glimmer of excited interest flickering suddenly in his eyes. He had taken quite a shine to William’s attendant elf when they’d met.

“This isn’t the time for that,” I said sternly, and a look of anger replaced his hope for romance.

“So, who arrested him?” he said, ignoring me.

“Well, I don’t remember all the names. But I certainly remember one man. Oh yes, I definitely remember Bradley.”

 

*

 

So I had an alliance with the army of miniature magical ninjas, but finding Bradley was difficult. He worked for the Auror Office, and we kept encountering each other. I thought of him as an irritating buffoon, but I certainly didn’t want Lvov to kill him. I went alone to the Ministry, asking after him, but of course he was out looking for Lvov. He was following the trace-spell that was detecting the wand Lvov had stolen, but as usual with these spells, it was detecting dozens of other similar wands. I finally caught up with Bradley as he checked on a wand on the outskirts of Glasgow, the cold northern wind undoing the heat of the afternoon.

I waited in the street while his aurors completed their checks on the buildings, discovering only a young witch on her summer holidays at her mother’s council flat. As I waited outside I imagined the aurors scanning her wand, making doubly sure that she wasn’t Lvov in a magical disguise. The elves agreed to follow Bradley secretly, watching him from the high buildings and the empty flats, lurking silently in bushes and behind TV satellites. Meanwhile, I would warn him to his face, in person. Finally they emerged out onto the street, and beneath Bradley’s beard I could see a look of dejection and disappointment.

“Miss Baker?” he said, seeing me.

“You’re in danger, Bradley. You’re looking for Lvov in the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded, “This is standard procedure.”

“And it’s never really worked, has it?” I said, “We think that whatever he plans on doing, first he’ll revenge himself against the wizards who did all this to him, right?”

“Who’s this ‘we’ you’re talking about?” he asked.

“That’s not important yet. You need to take all of the wizards and witches who ever had any dealings with him into protective custody. If he doesn’t go for them, he’ll try to get you or I first.”

“Well, alright,” said Bradley.

“Sir!” one of his men exclaimed.

“Silence,” Bradley snapped, “She’s been inside his head. She’s more qualified to make this judgement than we are. There might be lives at stake. Simmons, take Miss Baker back to headquarters and make sure everyone else connected to Lvov is taken care of, alright?”

“Do it secretly, Simmons. If Lvov is watching any of them, I don’t want him to know what we’re doing. I’m going to stay with Bradley,” I said.

“Miss Baker, I think you should be kept safe with everyone else,” he said.

“Today I’m your expert on Lvov. If you want to catch him, I’m who you need,” I said sternly. He looked me up and down in much the same way that Yarost had, starting to realise what he was dealing with.

“Yeah, okay. So, what do you recommend?”

“For now we’ll keep doing what you were doing. With the other arresting aurors all unreachable or missing, he’ll track you down. Or he’ll track me down, and find us in the same place. The opportunity will be too good for him, I think,” I said, pulling my coat tight around me as the blue sky provided another gust of chilling wind.

“So, you’re saying, you and I are bait?” he said.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“So, what’s the trap? Me and my men? He’d have to be an idiot to try it, when he can see some of the best trained aurors in the country are protecting you.”

“Trust me, Bradley. I’ve got something better up my sleeve than your men. No offense,” I said to the wizards around me in their uniforms.

We spent the next few hours touring the country with magical speed, ticking off locations on a long list as we chased the results of the wand-tracing spell. We visited several elderly wizards and witches in their bizarre, eccentric homesteads – a cottage woven from trees that blended into the forests, a giant snail shell made into a beachfront house that loomed over the pebble beach around it, a windmill that clunked and rattled dangerously as the sails rotated. The biggest challenge was tracking down a narrow-boat that zoomed along the canals without making a ripple. The whole time, I saw no sign that the El-Fov were following us, which was good. Of course, I desperately wanted to know that they were still out there, but at least if I didn’t see them then there was no way Lvov would.

The aurors were knocking patiently on the door of a stone wall set into a large cave, waiting for the occupant to open the door. The address belonged to an old wizard who was probably too deaf to hear the aurors knocking. I could feel something different in the afternoon air. There was a rustling in the trees around the tiny valley in which the cave rested, tucked away beneath an overgrown hill like something out of Tolkein. In the corner of my eye I could see a shadow move around the top of the valley amongst the silhouettes of the trees. He had the high ground, with the aurors all shifting around in front of the house, bored and listless. This was perfect ambush territory, and apparently only Lvov and I had realised it.

Sure enough, the first spells flew towards the aurors nearest the stone wall, fizzling through the air. I had been so tense all afternoon that the spells almost moved in slow motion. They struck their targets precisely, and the wizards crumbled to the ground like rag dolls, stunned and neutralised. The others had their wands out swiftly, pointing up into the trees around us randomly, firing stunning spells at anything they thought was moving. In the confusion, more spells rained down from above. I had ducked behind the body of one of the aurors, shielding myself from the rain of spells. Lvov must have been aparrating around the trees with astonishing awareness of the surroundings and his own orientation regarding us, because the spells were coming from everywhere.

“It’s an army!” someone was shouting.

“Where are they?!”

“Shields! Shield charms!” another yelled before a stun-spell hit him.

A hemisphere of magic shimmered around us, and the rain of spells coming from the trees ceased. Either the El-Fov had protected me, or something else was going on. I was trying to spot in which ways we were vulnerable when Lvov showed me he’d thought of it first. Instead of spells, metal barbs were now flying at us through the air. They were long enough and wide enough to do some serious physical damage, and the shield charm couldn’t deflect them all. The few remaining aurors were trying to deflect them, and I was concentrating on protecting me and my immobile human shield. The aurors took a chance to reinforce the shield charms, but while they did that they were struck with a couple of the metal spikes. One was pierced in the leg, another stabbed in the shoulder, one took a barb to the leg that caused him to fall into the path of another that shot through his chest, probably piercing his right lung. He would live, if we got him help immediately. But, while the metal spikes had finished, there were other surprises in store for us.

“Lvov!” I yelled during the temporary silence, “Daniil! Stop!”

For a fraction of a second, I thought my desperate plea might have worked. That was when Lvov appeared, standing up on the slope that led into the valley between two large trees. After the projectile onslaughts, there were only three aurors still standing, including Bradley. The magical shield shimmered around us, fading into nothing as the remaining aurors ceased maintaining it. Lvov fired a spell down at us, experimentally, but Bradley ducked and cast a large enough shield that it was deflected. Lvov seemed satisfied that he’d achieve nothing more with spells, and from the ground he picked up a long, curved sword that glimmered in the afternoon light. I wondered where he’d got it, but then I realised he could have transfigured it out of a stick, or a rock, or even the mud. As he started walking down the slope into the valley, he was striking at the bushes and branches nearby with the long blade, slashing at the greenery. He came forwards in complete silence.

His face was tired, his short blond hair was greasy and clinging to his forehead. His clothes were crumpled, but there was a look in his eyes that was making the aurors around me nervous. I stood, stepping over the static auror I’d been hiding behind.

“Is that him?” one of them asked.

“You saw the briefing material,” Bradley said with a growling voice, firing a spell at Lvov. Lvov deflected it with a flash of his wand and a shield charm so brief and skilful that it was barely even seen.

“There’s three of us, and one of him. We can take him,” the other auror said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I said as I raised my own wand.

“What, you think he’s that dangerous?”

“No, I mean, there’s not just three of us,” I said with a grin as the elves started to appear.

“Fucking hell,” said one the aurors.

The elves were popping out of the air and hurling themselves at Lvov, swinging around from behind tree trunks and lunging out of the bushes. Lvov kept walking towards us, ducking and avoiding the elves as they flew towards him. One of them hurtled towards him with his axe, being dragged through the air by the weight of it, but Lvov brushed him aside with a wave of his wand. Luckily, Lvov had killed none of them yet – they would certainly never have allowed him to live if he had done so. He deflected two more, now breaking his even, patient pace and starting to jog gently, flinging elves aside as if they were nothing. Then one of the elves appeared out of thin air directly above and behind him, seizing onto his back and clamping a rag over his mouth.

“What’s that?” one of the aurors asked as I stood next to him.

“Probably chloroform,” I said.

“Well, that’s no good,” he said and raised his wand. I grabbed his arm, gently pushing it back down and shaking my head.

“You might hit the elves.”

Lvov bucked, and tossed the elf from his shoulders, sending him flying overhead. Another appeared on his back, and while Lvov was slowing down and trying to pull the elf’s sharp claws from his shoulders with hands that held a wand and a sword, two more appeared and grabbed his ankles. Stumbling, he tried to flail with his sword at the elves holding his legs, but they disappeared in time to avoid the blade.

He roared with anger and pain, shooting spells randomly now, trying to find a purchase on the elf who was hanging on like a desperate cowboy to a furious bull. The spells and curses exploded in fireballs amongst the trees, showering the valley with burning twigs and smouldering bark. The elf with the rag reappeared, riding Lvov next to his comrade, and Lvov staggered under the weight. He was now so close that I could see his eyes flickering as he inhaled the fumes from the rag deeply. Finally, when he was just a few yards away, his strength gave out and he fell to one knee. He dropped his sword and with this studier stance, he got a grip on the elf behind him, pulling on the sinewy form. But the elf’s grip was strong, its nails deep in his skin, and with the chemicals of the rag still pouring into his body he was losing strength fast. The stolen wand fell from his hand and he slowly collapsed as several more elves appeared to sit on his back. When he finally fell unconscious, there were several elves sitting on him, clinging to his clothing and his skin. As he stopped twitching, they nervously grinned at each other and tightened their grip.

“Fucking hell,” the auror said again.

“I know,” I said as I started forwards, approaching the elves.

“Wait, Miss Baker,” Bradley said, trying to stop me. I shrugged him off and continued up the slope.

“Fucking hell,” the auror said for a third time.

“That’s enough, Smith,” Bradley said, sternly but quietly.

“Sorry, sir. But… fucking hell,” he said with a slight grin, “I’m glad they’re on our side, eh?”

“Who said they’re on our side?” the other auror said, still handling his wand nervously.

“She did,” I heard Bradley say, and when I glanced back he was pointing at me, where I was standing over Lvov’s unconscious body.

The elves were all looking up at me expectantly, and then Yarost appeared opposite me, standing on the other side of the body. The elves looked from him to me and back again.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, and there was a cocky grin on his battle-weary face.

“Take him to that church I found you in. Bind him tightly to something strong. If you can, keep him unconscious, alright?” I whispered, “Now I’m going to pretend like I’m protesting, okay?”

“What?”

“Those men won’t be happy about you taking him,” I muttered, motioning with my head over my shoulder.

“Those men are weaker than this man. They have no choice in this matter,” Yarost said sternly.

“But I need to lie to them, alright?”

“Alright,” he said, and brandished his axe high above his head as he shouted, “This man is ours! You will not have him!”

“What?” demanded Bradley as he finished quietly disenchanting the aurors who had fallen. They were flexing their limbs and rubbing their sore bruises while the healthiest amongst them apparated away with those who had been wounded by the metal spikes Lvov had rained down.

“He is ours. He is an enemy of my people, and we have captured him. We have also saved your lives. You will give him to us, or we will take him from you.”

“Damned if we will,” Bradley said.

“They outnumber us,” I said to him softly as he arrived next to me.

“This is our jurisdiction,” Bradley said to Yarost.

“This is our prey,” he countered.

“What if we give him to you after we’re done with him?” I suggested to Yarost, who gave me a knowing smile before it was replaced with a look of anger.

“Then we will take him now!” he said defiantly, and issued orders to his elvish soldiers. They all vanished quickly, along with the unconscious Lvov.

“Damn!” Bradley swore, striding to where the Russian had lain face-down, and he kicked at the ground.

“This isn’t over. I can check with my elvish contacts, see if anyone has heard about where they’re staying,” I told him. I had to keep myself from smiling ironically.

“How long do you think it would take?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, as far as I know, they only ever came to this country for him. Now they have him, they’ll probably leave,” I said, “It’d be a long shot.”

“And they’d take their war with them,” he mused, looking at the bloodstains on the ground from those wounded with the metal spikes. He stepped close to me, and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Between you and me, I might be alright with that.”

“Are you saying you don’t care what happens to him?”

“If I got the chance, I’d love to haul him back into our custody. But I’m not an idiot, and those elves looked damn crazy.”

“You might be right,” I said, nodding.

“Sir?!” exclaimed one of the aurors behind us. Everyone had their wands pointed at the door in the wall set into the cave, which was rattling gently. Slowly it opened a crack, and in the darkness I could make out the glint of a tiny, beady eye. After a fraction of a second the door was thrown open and an ancient wizard emerged, bent double over a walking stick that was tangled in his long white beard. In his other hand he held an ear trumpet to his head and squinted at us over thick glasses, his eyes lost in the furrow of his brow as his bushy eyebrows bunched together on his forehead. He looked at the smears of blood, the smouldering tree fragments, the metal spikes still stuck in the ground. He took in the scorch marks left on the wall of his house, burnt stone still cooling in the afternoon air. He squinted at the bruised aurors standing around, all in stances preparing to fire spells, their wands pointed straight at his withered form.

“What the devil has been going on out here?” he demanded.

 

*

 

It was an hour and a half before the Ministry were satisfied with my witness accounts, and I could apparate around for a bit to lose anyone following me before I returned to that church. I didn’t appear in the building directly, but very close to it in the graveyard outside. I found my way to the front entrance in the failing evening light and I repeated the knock that the elf had used earlier in the day. Sure enough the door slid open. I was pleased – the elves were at least still occupying the building. But I could smell blood as soon as I walked through the wooden panel. This time there were a few lamps sitting on some of the pews that provided little oases of light in the darkness of the space. There were very few elves in the central chamber of the church now. There was one holding the door, who slammed it shut behind me. There were a few others sitting around, sharpening their axes or polishing their helmets. The regular grating noise of the whetstone echoed out into the space.

I walked to the door of the office that I’d found Yarost in earlier and knocked gently. The smell of blood was much worse here. The door opened and I saw Lvov sitting unconscious on the floor, against the far wall. Chains had been wrapped around him tightly and then fused to the wall, blending the metal to the stone. With the elves gathered around him, looking up at me, it looked like a twisted, nightmarish Gulliver’s Travels. Lvov was bleeding from his nose and he was missing a tooth.

“I said not to hurt him!” I snapped.

“No, we agreed we would not kill him,” Yarost said, standing up from his perch on the desk at the side of the room. There was something dangling on a string around his neck. It was some sort of misshapen fungus, pale and fleshy and wrinkled.

“Well, now it’s time to let me do my work. I can make him your spy, but everyone else has to leave. Yarost, you can probably stay as long as you’re quiet, alright? I understand you’ll want to witness this process, obviously.”

“Indeed. As trustworthy as you are, I cannot let you stay alone with him. I should also tell you that if you try to steal him from us, we will hunt you both down and kill you.”

I was going to make a derogatory comment about the effectiveness of the El-Fov when hunting humans, but this didn’t seem the time. Instead I just nodded and made shooing motions at the elves, who all glanced at Yarost for permission before vanishing into the air. Yarost stayed, but he sat down on the desk, his axe resting on the floor with his spindly hands resting on the hilt. I turned to look at Lvov, wondering how to wake him up. And then I noticed the long smear of blood that was drying on his neck, shoulder and back. I tilted my head a fraction of a degree and noticed that his ear was missing, completely sliced away from his head.

“Damn it Yarost!” I said angrily.

“He is our most triumphant trophy. Can you begrudge us a souvenir? For our victory?” he said, his stern voice sounding faintly apologetic.

“Where is it?” I asked, at the same moment my eyes flicked down to his necklace with its strange fungal pendant. I snatched the string from around his neck and slowly, gently tugged it from where it had been threaded through Lvov’s ear. “You can’t expect him to help you if he can’t bloody hear you, alright?” I snapped.

“He can grow it back,” Yarost shrugged, “The wizards have magic for that.”

“And he’ll love you for it, I’m sure. At least tell me he was unconscious when you took it off him,” I snapped.

“He woke up briefly,” Yarost said.

“Good grief,” I said.

There’s a complicated enchantment and an even more complicated potion that, in conjunction, magically bonds flesh back together. I knew neither of these things, and I wondered how fresh the ear would need to be in order to perform the procedure. I at least knew a simple spell to cauterise wounds, so I stopped the bleeding on the side of his head as gently as possible. I could preserve the ear with some spells that I knew to keep food fresh. I did so, cradling the poor piece of meat in my hand and waving my wand over it. With that done, I readied myself to wake Lvov, taking several deep breaths in the air that smelt of blood. I muttered an incantation and his eyes flickered, then snapped open. I’d have liked to leave him unconscious, but he would need to be awake for this.

“Lyev Daniil Oleg Lvov!” he murmured, giving me his full name and then several other things in Russian that I assumed were his rank and whatever the Departament Mastera used as a serial number.

“Easy, Lvov. It’s me.”

“What do  _ you _ want with me?” he demanded, struggling against his chains. I was impressed at his dedication, his resilience. At the same time, we’d been so intimate that it really hurt to see no recognition in his eyes, no sign that that intimacy existed anywhere but in my own memory.

“Do you remember what happened while you were in the Ministry?” I asked him.

“I’m not going to tell you anything!” he snapped, pulling at the chains that were melded to the floor and wall.

“I know. I’m going to be the one telling you stuff. Do you know what this is?” I said, pulling a small vial of silvery, shimmering liquid from inside my coat.

“That’s a memory,” he said, looking at me suspicious.

“It’s the memory of what happened to you in the Ministry. I saved it for you. It’s important that you take it back. It’ll explain everything,” I said, lying about the content but not about what it would do.

“I’ll never submit!” he shouted.

“It doesn’t need to be voluntary,” I said darkly, “But it would help. It would have the same effect either way, of course.”

“I’ll never give in to your ways,” he said.

“I’d tell you to hold still, but it doesn’t seem like you have a choice,” I joked as I unscrewed the cap from the bottle of precious fluid and dipped my wand-tip into it delicately. There was a tiny shining droplet sparkling on the end of it, which I held over Lvov’s head. He tried to move away from it, the chains digging into his skin as he strained against them. Nonetheless, I tapped the wand to his head and the memories sank into his skull.

The change came almost instantly. It was a lot of memory to assimilate, sure enough, and his eyes rolled back in his head briefly, his eyelids flickering, but the process only took a second. When he opened his eyes again, he was massively confused, looking from me to Yarost and back again.

“How do you feel?” I asked him.

“I am fine,” he said, wincing at the pain on the side of his face, “Lucinda… thank you for finding me, and restoring me. This is all so strange.”

“I know. Just let it all sink in, and we’ll talk after that. Do you remember everything? Do you remember me?”

“I do. I remember… all the things we have done together. And I remember what you have shown me, the memories of your own life. Once more, I do not understand what this means. My government, my people, my entire culture is based on lies and false pride. It is, as you might say, impractical. And it is wasteful.”

“Yarost, would you take these chains off?” I asked the elf over my shoulder.

“What? No! He is lying. As soon as he is free, he will try to escape.”

“Lvov, you understand what’s happened here, right? I had to get the elves to help me find you. And they hate you so much, they tortured and disfigured you. I’ve got your ear here, it’ll be fine as long as you get it reattached swiftly. If I get them to unchain you, you won’t try to run away, right? The elves have a proposition for you.”

“I will not listen to these monsters!” he snapped.

“Daniil, you have personally done much worse things to many of their people. Your hands aren’t clean either – they drip with elf blood. Even though they tortured you, you need to remember who you are and what you’ve done. If you’re truly sorry, you should be humbled by it,” I said.

Yarost said something in Russian, and Lvov looked at him angrily before sighing and replying in a much less aggressive voice. Yarost stood, and strode across the floor towards him, shouting something incomprehensible. Lvov’s expression was genuinely regretful, even with the pain from his missing ear and the discomfort of his awkward posture. He said something, and I was touched by his tone. Yarost simply shrugged, and muttered something, but he returned to where he was sitting on his desk. Lvov said something else, but Yarost only said something that mentioned my name. They both turned their attention back to me.

“What’s that about?” I asked.

“He was reminding me of just a few of my crimes,” Lvov said, “They do indeed have every reason to just kill me. I am glad that you have persuaded them not to.”

“Well, you can make it up to me later,” I said, and allowed myself a small smile.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“We can talk about that over a glass of wine,” I said, glancing at Yarost and wondering if he’d leave us alone.

“No, I mean the elves,” Lvov said.

“Oh! Right! Yeah, okay. They want you to go back to Russia and act as a spy for them.”

“Wait,” said Lvov, looking confused, “I was going to try and get into the embassy, but they were looking for me. I remember… you saw me inside your Ministry, being interviewed by the thing that now calls itself King. You were going to sabotage it. That must be why they’re looking for me, they think I had something to do with it!” he exclaimed, “I can’t go home now! They think I’ve committed treason. The dishonour would be unbearable for my family.”

“You have no choice!” Yarost snapped from where he was sitting, thumping his axe upon the floor.

“Wait,” I told them both, “There’s a way I can make this work. With rumours, and subtlety. And there are spells I can cast on your mind, Lvov. Memory-modification, things like that.”

“Memory…?” he asked, not recognising the following word.

“It’s been done a few times before. I heard a rumour that a man had done it to hide the truth about telling Tom Riddle about Horcruxes. And in ’81, there were Death Eaters who did the same. When someone tries to extract your memory, they’ll only get the modified version – the fake version. But you’ll always know the truth.”

“Interesting. And that would be the proof of the matter, of course,” said Lvov.

“Exactly. Did you know that King had been used to sabotage the Avada Kedavra cannon?”

“No, I did not know,” said Lvov, looking shocked.

“So, imagine this. You heard about the cannon from where you were imprisoned, then escaped to prevent the Ministry from doing any more damage to the magical Russian war-machine. The only way you could find to save your nation was to remove the clockwork brain from the Ministry’s possession, and to do that you had to destroy it. Then the El-Fov caught you, and cut off your ear, but you escaped again. If your Departament Mastera thought that, would they still think you’d committed treason?” I said.

He paused for a second, mulling it over in his head. His eyes lingered on mine, but his attention was elsewhere, deep inside his mind, pondering the attitudes of his government. I heard Yarost shift impatiently on the desk, and I could tell he was about to say something before Lvov spoke first.

“I think that might work. It uses all the facts and events. It just uses them in a different story, I suppose. If I had escaped from the capture of my enemies twice, and acted as a counter-saboteur, there would be no dishonour. I could return to my country with my head held high, and work as a spy for these… people,” he said, glancing at Yarost.

“And you could work to make a kinder, more practical nation,” I added.

“You are asking me to live an entirely different life. To live several entirely different lives!” he said.

“You’re a strong man, with the soul of a warrior. If anyone can do it, you can, eh?”

“And the alternative is death?” Lvov asked. Behind me, Yarost muttered something in Russian, and Lvov nodded understanding.

“Very well, Lucinda. And my memories of you will remain, too?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I missed them while they were gone. I am much happier, having shared those moments with you. Even this one,” he said, his Russian accent growing thick as he tried to hold back a sudden surge of emotion.

The procedure is complicated, but I’ve had experience at cracking forged memories before, and I know what to look for – knowing how to expose a fraud means I also know how to commit a very convincing one. Memory is composed of many layers at the best of times, and slipping in a layer composed of lies that doesn’t affect the owner is difficult. The tricky part is making all of the elements fit, making everything and everyone seem natural. It’s where forging a memory becomes a real art, especially with something as complicated and dynamic as this. I had to invent how he heard about the Ministry’s destruction of the Russian cannon, there was his escape, there were the boring little mundane details of his daily life on the run, and there was the massively convoluted way he sabotaged King using the goblin, Nornuk, who knew about wormholes. Escaping from the El-Fov seemed almost child’s play after that, but I paid attention and blended it all together seamlessly. Almost everything else I could leave intact, since going after the wizards who arrested him seemed entirely in-character for Lvov. After an hour of intense concentration, it was finished. I reviewed my work happily, touring through the level of Lvov’s memory that would be all any outsider would ever see. And with the reports the Russians would receive, the rumours and leaked secrets, they would have no reason to doubt his story.

*

 

The Departament Mastera embassy was just around the corner of the London street where I stood with Lvov. The entrance was disguised as a book shop, and I wasn’t surprised to see that any muggles who noticed it quickly forgot all about having noticed it and wandered off looking slightly puzzled.

I looked up at Lvov, who was wearing a deep hood and a long robe, with a bandage around his head, under the hood, that was slightly blood-stained even now. His hand had been close to his stolen, concealed wand ever since we had stepped into the muggle areas of London.

“They look just like us,” he muttered to me.

“They  _ are _ just like us. But less magical,” I said, slightly amused.

It had taken some time to explain what a car was, even though I knew he’d seen one when we’d arrived at his castle in Russia, when I’d first met him, all that time ago. We’d walked past a television shop that had a dozen flickering screens, but Lvov hadn’t asked about them – I wondered whether he knew what they were, or whether he thought they were some sort of clumsy magical mirror. We had kept up this light, irrelevant conversation as we made our way to the embassy.

I had spent all night sowing the seeds of rumour and misinformation to deceive the Departament Mastera, when I should have been in the church with Lvov and the elves – making sure that they didn’t rip him apart, and enjoying what might be our last moments together. And now, as those moments started to slip away, all we could talk about was the internal combustion engine, and listening to his astonishment at how naked and exposed some of the muggle women were. We had arrived at this corner several minutes ago, but kept up the awkward conversation as we stood there, out of view of the embassy.

“It’s about being emancipated. Free to do what you want,” I said, speaking up for the rights of my gender.

“Lucinda, I want to thank you again, but my words are meagre payment for what you have given me.”

“I didn’t do anything really,” I said, highly pleased.

“You have shown me the way the world truly is. Or at least, you have shown me that the flaws in the way I saw it. You have taught me the error of my ways, and now I feel I can move forward into a better world. This is due to you, Lucinda. I owe you a great deal, and if it were not for my promise to the Svobodny El-Fov I would spend the rest of my life expressing my gratitude.”

“Well… you know… it’s nothing…” I said, blushing under his intense blue gaze, his wide, sincere eyes making me feel hot and small.

“It is everything,” he said, grasping my arms and holding me. I looked up at him, and he kissed me passionately. I sighed as I felt his lips, his unshaven and rugged face pushing against mine. I reached up to hold his face tenderly, but he winced and I realised I was brushing his bandage.

“Sorry!” I exclaimed.

“It’s fine,” he said, grinning very slightly despite the pain.

“I should probably fix the memory of that last kiss, as well. It’ll take time to rewrite it,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck self-conciously and quickly whipping out my wand.

“I wish you didn’t have to,” he said.

“Maybe one day, I won’t have to,” I said, hopefully.

“We shall see,” he said as I tapped my wand to his head, and over the course of ten minutes I provided another fake memory that any probing legilimens would discover. We got a few odd glances from the muggles as they walked past, but it was an unremarkable-looking process with no flashes of light or sparks, so they mostly hardly even noticed us.

We said goodbye very formally, in case anyone was watching from the future by way of Lvov’s memories, and I watched him walk around the corner into the embassy. The little bell over the door jingled as he opened the door, and shut it firmly behind him.

I flew home slowly, my flight goggles pulled down over my eyes.


End file.
